


Returned

by justanotherStonyfan



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They should have known – it should have been obvious. The way Clint stuck around and smiled after the Chitauri invasion, the way nobody broke down, and the way there was no funeral scheduled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Returned

**Author's Note:**

> This would be the beginning of my version of Coulson-Lives. This is how I see it happening, and how I see people taking it. So here it is, part the first - Coulson Lives.

They should have known – it should have been obvious. The way Clint stuck around and _smiled_ after the Chitauri invasion, the way nobody broke down, and the way there was no funeral scheduled. 

Tony'd just assumed SHIELD dealt with funerals the same way they dealt with everything else – privately, away from everyone else, before anybody else had really thought about it. But apparently he'd been wrong, and they all stood as they were proven ignorant.

“Holy shit,” Tony whispered, getting to his feet through instinct as Bruce did the same and took off his glasses for a better look, mouth hanging open.

“My God,” Steve murmured next to him, taller than both of them but apparently just as ready to use the fight-or-flight instinct that had them all out of their seats, and Natasha said the same in Russian, a short, hissed “Bozhe moi” as she pushed her chair back that still didn't do the feeling justice.

Thor stood up too, but didn't say anything, and Clint seemed to forget to stand completely. Actually, Clint wasn't even looking. But Tony was, the rest of them _all_ were, because Fury wasn't standing by himself at the head of the table.

“Good afternoon,” Phil Coulson said, “I'm sorry this was kept from you. I trust you're well?”

And it was maybe three seconds before the whole table – aside from Clint, for some reason, and little order-following Steve Rogers – erupted.

“What the hell is this?”  
  
“Is it really you?” 

“My God, you're an arrogant son of a-”

“It's good to have you back.”

“Where in God's name-”

And it went on, of course it went on, because everyone wanted to be heard and nobody wanted to stop to listen. 

Tony vaguely registered Steve sitting down heavily in his chair again, staring at Coulson, but Tony wasn't going to give in so easily.

“I'm a biologist, you don't think I could have helped with this?” Bruce said, doing a fantastic job of not Hulking out where Tony couldn't say he'd've managed himself in Bruce's place.

“It was for the greater good of the team and the world, Dr Banner-”

Thor leaned forward and pointed at Fury. “What deception is this?” while Natasha swore in Russian, and Tony shook his head.

They were all talking over each other and Tony considered that the most valid point was his.

“You _lied_ to us,” he said. “Again. And here I was thinking it couldn't get any worse.”

And nobody let up, everybody talked, until Fury turned away and everybody ran out of things to yell and eventually they were all dropping back into their seats because _holy hell_ Coulson was _alive!_

Clint was staring at the tabletop.

“Agent Barton,” Fury said, “I appreciate you keeping this information to yourself for such a long time.”

And that was low, even for Fury. Even _Coulson_ looked surprised by such an underhanded tactic, and Tony didn't think he'd ever seen Coulson surprised in his life.

Clint didn't even lift his head. “Yes, Sir,” he said, barely audibly and, because he couldn't stop himself, Tony was the first to speak.

“You _knew_?”

“Agent Barton was told,” Fury said, “yes. And he was ordered to keep his mouth shut.”

Bruce tucked his glasses into his shirt pocket. “God, how are we supposed to...God.”

But, other than that, nobody rose to it. Nobody took Fury's bait, nobody blamed Clint for something that wasn't his fault – at least, not now. Later, they'd probably all want a word, Tony sure as hell did, but right now the issue wasn't that Clint had known, it was that _Fury_ had know, and _Fury hadn't told them_. Fury had let them all believe that Coulson was _dead_.

Fury glanced at Clint, looking extremely bored, and Tony spared a look for Steve – Steve who was the leader of their team, Steve who hadn't said a word since he'd stood and had sat down before the rest of them, Steve who didn't even look angry. Traitor.

“And what about you, Captain?” Fury said, turning to look at them again, sweeping his hand out to gesture to everyone at the table. “You have anything you want to add to this conversation?”

Tony rolled his eyes and restrained himself from rocking back on his chair in irritation. And he only restrained himself because they were swivel chairs and didn't lend themselves well to tipping, (they tended to move a little, maybe one wheel would lift, and then the other wheels would take over and the chair would skid off to one side with a crash – something he'd learned from experience) settling for rubbing his hand over his eyes instead.

If they had any luck, Steve would just shut up like the good little golden retriever he was and they could all get out of here. But Captain Courage would undoubtedly have something to say. He usually did – incapable of keeping his mouth closed, especially if it gave him the opportunity to kiss ass. 

Tony knew what was coming a moment before Steve answered – some patriotic _we should all do what Fury tells us_ bull that Steve recited every time Fury felt like he needed an ego boost. 

“Yes, Sir,” Steve answered. “I do.”

Yeah, of course he did. Steve, obviously, agreed completely, understood Fury's actions, supported him all the way.

What Tony didn't expect was for Steve to stand to deliver his little speech. Although, Tony supposed, it stood to reason – why be pompous and patriotic and short if you can be pompous and patriotic and tall? But Steve sighed heavily, head down as he flattened the palms of his hands on the glass tabletop, a couple of strands of his always-perfectly-combed hair slipping down across his forehead.

When he lifted his head again, hands by his sides, he looked exactly the same as he always did. Neutral. Unreadable. The perfect straight-backed soldier, ready to carry out whatever orders.

He hadn't gone through individual performances yet, and he'd probably mention a few of those to earn himself some brownie-points – _you're right as always, Sir, Black Widow was almost crushed because she wasn't paying attention, Sir, Mr Stark got in my way again, Sir._

“Permission to speak freely, Sir?” he asked, and Fury nodded, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Granted,” Fury answered, as though he expected Steve to stick out his chin and say ' _No matter what they say, I think you're wonderful.'_

But Steve didn't do that. 

“Agent Coulson,” he said instead, his voice even, measured, chin up as his gaze slid right to where Coulson stood. “I don't need to tell you how many men I lost, how many dead eyes I closed, or how many people I discovered lived their lives and died before I could wake up to say goodbye. I don't need to tell you how often this hasn't happened to me, how often this doesn't happen. As far as I can see, you're back from the dead, and I can't convey to you how great it is to see you well. Even better to see you up and about, Sir.”

Coulson nodded a little, enough that it was visible.

“Thank you, Captain,” he said, and Steve must have been smiling somehow – maybe with his eyes – because his expression went oddly dead when he looked from Coulson to Fury.

And Tony hadn't expected that, usually he didn't see that from Steve. Even when they were all arguing like the world was gonna end, Steve didn't show that much if he was trying to be the professional super-soldier.

“Sir, I'm...” Steve began, and then he looked away from Fury.

What the hell? Usually Steve just stood up with his shoulders squared and his head up, probably staring at an imaginary American flag while the star spangled banner played on a loop in his head or something equally self-righteous. His hair might as well blow in the breeze. 

But now, what, the man with the plan was suddenly weak at the knees?

“I'm a tactician,” Steve said. 

There was a long pause. 

Tony wondered if that had been Steve's entire point. Bravo, well done, time to go now, right? 

Steve looked at Fury again, dead on. “But I don't see the tactical advantage to this.”

Tony felt his eyebrows draw together. Oh. Okay, that was new. It wasn't exactly questioning authority but asking for an explanation? Hell, that amounted to the same thing in Steve's book, maybe he was learning after all.

“I mean, I understand the tactical advantage to not telling us until after our battle with the Chitauri,” Steve said. “You wanted us to bond over grief, to be united in our pain. And we grieved.”

Tony frowned and glanced at Coulson, who looked abashed at least. That was...Steve sounded different, and that was weird. He always sounded exactly the same but that...that was lower, rougher. There was pain in that voice and even when he was _in_ pain, Steve didn't sound like that.

And yeah, okay, Tony could understand that. Steve might not have known Coulson for as long as the rest of them but Coulson was a good man, looked up to Steve. And Tony didn't doubt that Steve had hurt in his own way when Coulson had...been so injured. Even if he hadn't shown it, he'd hurt, they'd all hurt.

“And we're a team now, Sir. That bond is forged and it's unbreakable, we've proven that. We function like one of Stark's machines – you know we do; we're well oiled and elegant and we can do whatever you need us to do.” And was Tony hearing things or was that a compliment? Okay, maybe someone should check the guy for a fever, that would explain a lot. “But I don't understand the tactical advantage to keeping it secret until now.” Which sounded like a challenge. 

That was Steve's version of 'explain yourself,' and Fury wasn't going for it, staring right back at him as though he'd done nothing wrong, as though there were nothing to explain, as though the pain of six – five – people was justifiable by the fact that Fury thought it best. 

And the silence stretched. It was a weird sensation in a room full of all of them – there was almost never silence. Quiet, sure, but silence made the hair stand up on the back of Tony's neck, made the hand he still held under the table curl into a fist, made his blood heat a little, his heart beat a little faster. 

Fury didn't speak, Steve didn't speak, but Tony was watching Steve, watching the same automatic tension build in him, and he saw the moment Fury's petulant silence pushed Steve too far. 

Steve's mouth tightened, his eyes hardened and he leaned forward just a little, waiting, waiting. But Steve snapped first.

“But then I didn't understand the tactical advantage to telling me I'd been asleep a week instead of seventy years,” he said, and Tony hadn't known that, nobody'd told Tony that, Jesus, really? “Or to claiming clean energy when you meant weapons of mass destruction-”

And that provoked a reaction, Tony glanced at Fury in time to see it.

“Captain Rogers-”

“Director Fury,” Steve cut him off, and even though Steve's voice was still calm, still measured, this time everyone in the room was staring at him.

Who the hell was this guy, and what had he done with Steve? 

“If you want us to be a team,” Steve said, and his voice was lower now, softer but sharper,“I need to be able to lead. And if you want me to lead, I need to be able to trust you to tell us the truth. Because I need to know that the intel I receive in the field is accurate. If I can't trust the intel, if I can't trust _you_ , it's gonna get us all killed.”

Fury took a step forward. “You are at this conference table, not in the field, Captain-”

“I'm seventy years beyond my time, Sir,” Steve answered, head up again. “I'm _always_ in the field.”

Tony narrowed his eyes a little and he saw Natasha shift uncomfortably. None of them had thought about it like that, although it had to be true enough if Steve was saying it.

Fury still didn't really rise to it, lifting his head a little to regard Steve better, and Steve stood still with his shoulders back and his head high. But it was different now. Now it didn't look like he was singing the national anthem in his head, it looked like he was keeping the reins on something with one hand while the other debated letting go.

“I see no tactical advantage to flying blind,” Steve said eventually. “The way to win our trust is through truth. Not lies.”

Fury raised his eyebrow.

“There was no lie,” he answered. 

“Then deception,” Steve countered. 

“Captain,” Fury said, leaning forward, “I had no other choice.”

“You had every choice.”

“Captain, may I remind you where you are and to whom you are speaking?”

And Steve _grew_ about an inch, jaw clenching so hard that a muscle in his cheek twitched.

“With all due respect,” Steve said, and if he really meant that then his opinion of Fury was clearly a lot less than Tony had thought, “I am a Captain in the US Army, and I am under _no_ obligation to follow your orders.”

Fury's eye widened but Steve didn't appear to be done.

“Now, I'm not in the habit of making contracts or setting conditions,” he said. “And I have a duty to protect anybody I can. But I think, for once, I can actually speak for all of us.”

And Steve set the fingertips of one hand down on the table in front of him, leaning forward just enough that it looked like he could spring across it and take Fury down without so much as a second thought.

“This is the last time you will deceive me, or my team, about something so important as a fallen comrade. Especially one who is a hero.” Coulson's eyes widened. “Because the next time you keep information from any of us,” Steve said, “lie to us, manipulate us...We'll defend the people. But not under you."

Fury stared at Steve, looking completely unconcerned to the untrained eye. But Tony could see the vein throbbing at his temple, the pallor at his knuckles where his fists were clenched, the tightness around his eye.

“Barton!” Steve barked, loudly enough that pretty much everybody jumped and damn, he could really sound like a Captain when he wanted to. “With me.”

Clint stood, slightly reluctantly from what Tony could see, and then Steve straightened his spine as he lifted his hand from the table top, hands by his sides, his face a mask of neutrality once more as he looked to Coulson.

“Welcome back, Sir,” he said, and then, silently, he spun on his heel and marched out. 

Barton followed, looking just as neutral as Steve, not a backward glance from either of them. 

~

Clint didn't exactly get to see where they were headed. For the most part, all he could see was a wall of blue Steve's shoulders were so wide, and he knew he was in for a dressing-down. At least he could maybe justify it, but Cap was an old-fashioned guy – obviously. Understandably.

And the fact that Clint had _known_ and hadn't told them, well, that probably amounted to some kind of treason in Cap's eyes.

Cap stopped a couple of feet in front of him, so suddenly that Clint almost walked straight into the back of him and, without even turning his head, he pressed a button on the wall by his side. 

A door slid open with a hiss, and Cap held his hand out.

“Inside,” he said darkly.

Clint did as he was told, stepping into the room. It wasn't what he expected – there was a couch and a desk and a...bed? Huh.

Cap walked in behind him and the door closed again, and Clint turned, expecting to be told to stand to attention.

Instead, Cap walked by him, hand over his eyes, right over to the desk. Only then did he turn around, and he only turned around to lean back on the desk. When he dropped his hand from his eyes, he pointed at the couch.

“Siddown, Clint,” he said quietly, with none of the clipped darkness he'd used before, and Clint frowned at him, then at the couch.

“Sir?”

“This is my room, Clint, there are no cameras in here, just sit down. You want a coffee?”

“I...I don't understand.”

And Cap lifted his head, eyebrows raised before he nodded towards the couch.

Clint frowned but did as he'd been asked, taking a couple of steps to sit down on the couch.  
  
“Son, I'm gonna ask you a question,” he said quietly, sounding tired more than anything else, “and I want you to answer me honestly.”

“Yes, Sir,” Clint answered, acutely uncomfortable with taking orders while sitting down, more so with the fact that he was sitting on Captain America's couch. 

“Were you told about Coulson because you're an item?"

Clint really hoped the heat in his face wasn't visible. How the hell had Cap found out about that? Not that it was a terrible thing for people to know, but a 1940s Captain dealing with a gay relationship in the ranks? Yeah, this was...worse. A lot worse.

“Yes, Sir,” he said, feeling like he should stand up for this, like this was going to be what got him kicked off the team. “I wasn't told until after the battle but...yes.”

Cap sighed, tipping his head back as he unfolded his arms and grabbed the desk instead, and his face lost what tension remained.

“Okay,” he breathed. 

And then he didn't say anything else.

“Sir?”

“What?” he asked, tipping his head forward again, and he looked as confused as Clint felt.

“Is...I mean...”

Cap shrugged, looked away. “You're a SHIELD agent,” he said. “I presume you really were ordered not to tell us?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And, unlike _me_ , you _do_ have to follow Fury's orders?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Cap narrowed his eyes a little.

“So you were aware of Coulson's...I'm sorry, you were aware Coulson is alive, but you were ordered not to tell us, and you followed those orders?”

“Yes, Sir.” 

“The biggest news you've ever had and you got it because you're in love with him, and sat on it because you were ordered to?”

Clint looked Cap up and down. “Yes, Sir,” he said.

“Then first of all, congratulations."

Clint shook his head. “Sir?”

“It's gotta be pretty serious if Fury knows, really serious if he's willing to breach security that way. And, obviously, congratulations on...you know. He's alive, I'm happy for both of you. Actually, I'm ecstatic for both of you, geez. I...” Cap laughed, actually smiling, and Clint kind of understood what people meant by a 'winning smile' when he did. “ _I_ can't process this and I barely met the guy before...Loki. But you?”

Clint felt his eyebrows raise.  
  
“So, what, you want a week or two?” Cap continued. “Barring emergencies, obviously, it'd be great if you stayed in New York but you don't have to....you want time off to be with him, right?”

“Uh, I...I-I don't understand...”

“You're right, I'm sorry,” Cap said, looking down, away. “It's none of my business, I'm gonna stop bugging you about this. You just tell me if you want to take a week or two. The second thing is, I'm glad I can trust you to follow orders when they're given to you.”

Clint nodded. “Thank you, Sir?  
  
“Coffee?”

“No, I'm okay, Sir,” Clint answered. 

Cap pushed forward off the desk, walked towards the door. “Come on, I'm guessing there's gonna be a lot to talk about. And I'm done with being here.”

Clint stood up again as the door opened.

“And hey?” Cap said, looking over his shoulder. 

“Yeah?”

“There's cameras in the hall, try and look like I just tore you off a strip.”

Clint let himself smile.

“Yes, Sir,” he said, and then he put on his best pissed-off-but-grudgingly-accepting face and followed Cap out into the corridor.

 

 


End file.
